


Let it Snow

by jasmasson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-24
Updated: 2007-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-17 16:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmasson/pseuds/jasmasson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean turned to stare at him, shocked, and caught Sam’s bright, white grin.  It wasn’t as if Sam had been a brooding misery <i>all</i> the time since Stanford, exactly, but, Jesus, when was the last time Sammy had been <i>playful</i>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it Snow

***

Dean hadn’t really been paying attention. He’d been musing about the best place to park the Impala to protect his baby from the thick snow and ice that was only going to get fucking worse overnight.

Next to him, Sam had been staring out over the snow covered parking lot of the motel, out over the road into stark white, empty fields. Dean figured him for brooding over something existential or somesuch at the beauty and peace of it all. Whatever.

He was surprised, then, when Sam said, “You remember that snowball fight one time, back at Pastor Jim’s?”

Dean did, actually, remember that one afternoon. After a successful hunt with the black dog dead, and no one injured, Dad had let them stay a few restful days at Jim’s before moving on because the roads had been just that bad from a winter storm. He and Sam, a chubby eight year old then, had been lazily lobbing snowballs at each other when their Dad, their _Dad_! had hit each of them simultaneously on the back of the head with one sneak attack.

It had turned into a game of tactics - Sam and Dean against Dad, with fences and trenches and strategic forays - but in the end Sam and Dean had had their young butts kicked. Their Dad had made a mad suicide dash for them, all tactics abandoned, manfully ignoring the barrage of snowballs hitting him on the way, and bundled them both laughing onto the ground and rubbed their faces in the snow.

They had just been small enough for Dad to carry them both into the house after, Sammy under one arm, Dean on his back and Pastor Jim had, honest to God, made them hot chocolate.

The moment of normality stood out surreally in Dean’s childhood memory. Did he remember? Hell, yes.

“Yeah,” was all he said.

“You know,” Sam mused, “if you didn’t throw like such a girl, we could’ve taken Dad.”

“What?! Dude, you were a weight around my neck. You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn from half a foot away even now.”

“Them’s fightin’ words,” Sam drawled.

Dean turned to stare at him, shocked, and caught Sam’s bright, white grin. It wasn’t as if Sam had been a brooding misery _all_ the time since Stanford, exactly, but, Jesus, when was the last time Sammy had been _playful_?

“Yeah?” Dean drawled back, heart beating a little faster.

“Oh, yeah.”

And then Sam was gone, out of the car.

Dean stared after him for a moment, until a snowball hit the Impala’s windscreen. Man, that meant war.

***

The long road and too many years fell away as they pelted snowballs at each other frantically, not bothering with cover, running out onto the field, Sam’s bright laughter tugged Dean after him, and, God he’d totally forgotten huge, grown up, serious Sam was a _giggler_.

It was, in fact, Sam’s laughter which was his downfall. He got Dean right in the face, when Dean was on the way up after bending down to collect another snowball, and this was apparently the funniest thing ever, causing Sam to double up with laughter. Before he had himself back under control Dean was on him, barrelling him over onto his back on the soft, wet snow.

Dean fully intended to roll Sam over and rub his face in the snow, but he hesitated a fatal moment at the sight of Sammy pink faced and grinning, panting under him, snowflakes clinging to thick eyelashes.

And then Sammy reached up and pulled Dean down. He pressed his face into Dean’s neck, eyelashes wet and spiky against Dean’s skin, a cold nose nuzzled against him, and a hot, soft mouth pressed a quick kiss to his jaw.

Dean froze. He. Could. Not. Have been more shocked if the world had ended right there.

But then he discovered the extent of his baby brother’s duplicity as a handful of wet snow was shoved down the back of his neck, he was pushed off onto his back and Sam was off, running back towards the motel.

Dean lay there for a long moment before getting up and slowly following Sam back to the motel, the carefree moment gone.

Sam had pulled both bags out of the Impala and gone into the motel, throwing one bag on each bed.

“You can have first shower,” Sam said, brightly, and Dean stepped numbly into the bathroom.

He got under the hot spray and rubbed his face, his _jaw_ , clean first, feeling his teeth gritted under his skin. He raised his wet face up to the spray and thought about nothing as he jerked off harshly.

***

Dean couldn’t remember the last time Sam had kissed him, although he could remember the last time he’d kissed Sam, which was also, conveniently, the time he _realized_ that he couldn’t remember the last time Sam had kissed him.

At eight years old Sam had pulled away from him when he’d kissed Sammy goodnight the way he always had.

“Gross,” Sam had said, screwing up his sweet face and scrubbing his fist against his forehead, rubbing off Dean’s kiss, “don’t be such a girl.”

“ _You’re_ a girl,” Dean had replied without missing a beat, poking Sam in the stomach and making him giggle. But his face and eyes had been hot and he hadn’t kissed Sammy again.

Apparently in eight year old world it was still OK to hug though, but only when it was really cold, or if Sam was sick or wounded, but that trickled off within a year as well. Although when Dean had food poisoning a few months later, Sam had climbed in bed with him and snuggled his warm little body into Dean’s, apparently under the impression from his own experience that this was what made sick people feel better. It _had_ made Dean feel better.

***

While Dean was in the shower, Sam had got hot chocolates from the machine which he offered to Dean with a little half smile Dean couldn’t resist although there was still a knot of tension in his gut.

The rest of the night they talked about snow daemons and ate pizza, and by the time Dean went to bed he was convinced again that Sam was his clueless, guileless, thoughtless little brother.

He didn’t see Sam watching him while he slept.

***


End file.
